My Writing Journey – Amanda Baber

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Dogs, Dorset, Local_History, writing

For the second in my series on Dorset writers, please welcome Amanda Baber – a writer with a unique approach to local history:

Amanda with Missy – and her book

Writing has been part of my core since I was a very small child and it is only since moving to Dorset from Bedfordshire in 2016 that my creativity bounced back. Finding peace after the bereavement of my late partner and finding new love with Nick has released and realised my ambition. Dorset is so inspirational and buzzes with activities for the creative soul but it is the history of Charmouth which drew me back to my writing roots.

At school I was encouraged to write both poetry and prose as I studied my A-Levels. Writing, editing and working with my graphic design skills for different organisations and employers kept my interest alive but I also began my long journey of caring for loved ones and reciprocal loved ones caring for me through the trauma of invisible illnesses.

Now my circumstances allow me to write for charity which I am doing with my Missy book series. In the pipeline are various short stories, poems and books I have written and not published, so keep an eye out for some different genres in the future.

Historical fiction is my chosen subject for my Missy books which came about from putting Missy, my flat coated retriever, together with the local history of our village. Researching in detail, visiting the places I need to portray and meeting people is both necessary and interesting. Missy dreams of the past, our valuable, rich history where characters and scenes of a different era emerge.

During her waking moments (she doesn’t dream all of the time) she relates her real travels with us. So current real places are mentioned and real people. Perhaps you will be mentioned in my next book if you have met us? The reason for all of this is that I wish to bring our adventures to life in a creative story from a dog’s perspective and support good causes at the same time.

My first book is called ‘Missy and the Whitts’ and tells the story of the Whittington sisters. They were iconic characters in Charmouth, related to Dick Whittington of pantomime fame. Read about the ghosts they saw and Missy, being a dog, meets their real cat, called Nemo, who accompanies her. Bringing my art into my books is also fun and I have illustrated this book throughout in pen and ink style.

All payments go to Charmouth Local History Society. It is available on Kindle, in my Conscious Crafties shop, Etsy shop (search for Missy’s Matters) and in local outlets in Charmouth, Lyme Regis, Bridport and Axminster. You can follow me on Facebook as Amanda Baber (author), on my website and as Missy’s Matters on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Pinterest, Flickr, YouTube and GooglePlus.

It truly has been a dream come true for me to self-publish my book and the support of people around me has been wonderful. Currently I am working on my next one, due out this year (2018). Do you want to see where Missy goes next?

Full details on Amanda Baber:

My Books are available from the links below through Missy’s Matters and through Kindle. Please follow me through my profile and social media channels to keep up to date with my work. Thank you! https://www.amazon.com/author/amandababer
Missy’s Matters is my Conscious Crafties Shop full of creative, handmade goodies with many donating to good causes. I also have an Etsy Shop.

https://www.consciouscrafties.com/community/missys-matters/

https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/MissysMatters

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/amandababerauthor

Website: http://amandababerauthor.wordpress.com/

Facebook https://m.facebook.com/MissysMatters/
Instagram https://www.instagram.com/missysmatters/
Twitter https://mobile.twitter.com/Missysmatters
Pinterest https://uk.pinterest.com/missysmatters/pins/

Flickr https://www.flickr.com/photos/161120523@N02/

LinkedIn https://www.linkedin.com/in/amanda-baber-6094b9154/

YouTube https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCrqE6dmZJ3TXpsojksu2BFQ

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D is for Daffodil

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Daffodils

The fourth in my A to Z of plant-inspired quirky tales:

 The Yacht Narcissus

The yacht Narcissus chugged serenely up and down the river in an irregular sort of way. This was on account of her considerable age, and that of her owner, too. She was a steam yacht – or, at least, that was what he liked to call her, in much the same way he called himself a commander. Nobody knew if he really was, or had been, any such thing, but he looked the part with his grey beard, pop-eye pipe and just the right sort of peaked cap.

She wasn’t very big, the Narcissus, but the funnel gave her the look of something far more grand, as did the pair of stripes painted along her old white hull, stem to stern. Stripes of black and daffodil yellow, the latter the only obvious connection with her name.

Then one day the news floated down that the old commander had been found stone cold dead in the cockpit, hat formally in place, pipe in hand and unfinished measure of gin by his side. Just the way he would have wanted to go, people said. But it meant the Narcissus was no longer the elegant steam yacht of her master’s imagination. She was an unwanted, weather-beaten old relic, and up for sale, too.

When she finally reappeared at new moorings she was sadly changed. The daffodil yellow stripe had been painted out, and so had her name. She had been rechristened the Cindy-Lou. This was a terrible affront to the dignity of a vessel that had been so much a man’s boat, everyone agreed. And so did the Narcissus. Her ancient planks cracked and sprang apart in protest, and she sank at her moorings, as if to say – no more.  Not worth repairing, really, they said, and she was broken up. And that was the end of it.

Or should have been.

Sometimes, just sometimes, people swear they have heard the steady chug and chuff of her steam engine far out on the marshes, still happily carrying the commander upriver, a ghostly steam yacht with her daffodil yellow stripes.

 

For plant and garden fans I’ve started a new blog, The Garden Visitor. Pop in and join me as I visit some gorgeous gardens. https://gardenvisitor106455000.wordpress.com

Gail Aldwin – A Writer’s Journey

My special guest this week on The Quirky Genre is Dorset writer Gail Aldwin:

 

I’ve always taken the view that it’s important to make the most of wherever I’ve lived and no one can deny Dorset is a county full of surprises with stunning beaches and inland scenery. We arrived in Dorchester from South London in September 2006. Little by little, I began to settle into the county town. I found employment, developed friendships and became part of the community. It wasn’t until 2009 that I started writing serious. I realised I was investing far too much time and energy in my paid employment at the sacrifice of a creative outlet. I began writing travel fiction about the places I had lived and worked before I married, then moved onto fiction by writing short stories and novels.

There have been a few successes along the way. My first short story was published in 2010 and I was so pleased with the payment I almost didn’t bank the cheque. I’ve had success in competitions including winning a competition at the Winchester Writers Festival, being runner up in Elle Magazine’s annual competition and gaining first prize in the Bournemouth National Poetry Day competition in 2016. I also gain literary representation from entering a novel competition but then my agent took maternity leave and decided not to return to work.

It wasn’t until quite recently that I began to think of my occupation as a writer. It has always been easier to say I am a student of creative writing or a tutor of creative writing rather than actually admitting to being a writer. I think this was a mistake. Now I work as a visiting tutor to creative writing students at Arts University Bournemouth, I make a point of encouraging them to call themselves writers from the start. I think this aids a professional outlook and encourages a serious approach to the craft of writing.

My short fiction collection Paisley Shirt is now available in Kindle Edition and paperback through Amazon. It is a delight to see my stories in print and be able to reach an audience. I’m still slogging away at completing a publishable novel but working with Chapeltown Books to get Paisley Shirt into shops and online is a step in the right direction. The apprenticeship to becoming a successful author is a long one, and I’m still on the journey.

 

You can find out more about Gail’s book Paisley Shirt here

Links:

Twitter:           @gailaldwin

Facebook:      https://www.facebook.com/gailaldwinwriter/

Blog:               The Writer is a Lonely Hunter

C is for Camellia

The third in my A to Z of plant-inspired quirky tales:

The Lady and the Camellias

Inspired by the truly gorgeous Camellia x williamsii ‘Saint Ewe’.

The visit to Saint Ewe to see the gardens had been a mistake, Lady Lavinia conceded. The police sergeant had been immensely charming and apologetic for locking her up, but there was no disguising the discomfort of a prison cell. There had been no need to involve the constabulary, none at all.

In truth, it had all been the fault of that luscious red one. How was any woman to resist the allure of such a thing? She had taken out her little knife – and then, well, that idiotic man had called the police in a quite hysterical manner.

She had thought, at first, that the constable would be on her side.

“With respect, sir,” he had said, with obvious sarcasm, “you have called us out on account of a bunch of twigs.”

But the owner had stood his ground. “That is not a bunch of twigs, officer. That is a collection of extremely valuable cuttings. And they are my property. And this woman, Lady or not, has stolen them.”

“But what use are they?” said the constable, undeterred.

Lady Lavinia spluttered in unison with her accuser at this dire display of horticultural ignorance.

“If she succeeds in growing them, constable, she will have a collection of very valuable plants. All my camellias are rare varieties. This is blatant theft.”

The constable shrugged. Lady Lavinia was bundled off to the police station, protesting loudly, and searched down to her underwear by the matron of the cottage hospital.

The next morning she stood before the Magistrate accused of the theft of twenty-seven assorted ‘valuable twigs’ found in pockets about her person,  with a plea for a further seven secreted in her corsets to be taken into consideration. Not to mention carrying an offensive weapon in the guise of the gardening knife.

The Magistrate, as it turned out, was not a gardening man, and threw out the case as a waste of police time. The valuable twigs were confiscated and returned to their outraged owner, and Lady Lavinia was bound over to keep the peace but otherwise free to go.

“Never mind,” she murmured to herself, “I still have one cutting left – the best of all, too. They’ll never guess where I hid that one.”

*

This story was first published in my short fiction collection Mr Muggington’s Discovery and Other Stories. Paperback copies are available from Amazon at £4.95, but the e-book is free. If you’d like one, leave me a message on the Contact page of this site and I’ll email a copy to you.

Another Way

You love writing, yes? You want people to read your work, don’t you? So you look for a publisher. It may take a long while, but at last someone takes an interest, and, scarcely able to believe your luck, you find yourself signing a contract. Success!

But do you know what? At that moment the writing you loved undergoes a subtle change; it becomes a product, an item to be sold, and subject to all the cruel laws of the marketplace. When you were writing your book, did you think about selling it? If you did, you’ll be well prepared for what comes next. If not – and you’d be surprised how many people don’t give it a thought – you might be in for a shock when the full requirement for selling and promotion becomes apparent. You will have to start thinking of your book, and subsequent works, as products.

It’s a pity, this, because I think the reason first novels are often so delightful is that they are written from the heart, and not with their commercial possibilities in mind. Something is invariably lost once the market takes over your writing.

Increasingly, I am encountering people who say, “No. I want to write from the heart – something that feels true to me, and not what an unpredictable market demands. And I don’t want to turn my writing into a small business. Nor do I want to spend countless hours attempting to market it. Life is simply too short. There has to be another way.”

Happily, there is. Once you stop thinking about your writing as a product – something that must be paid for – possibilities open up. The internet has many bad things to answer for in modern life, but one of its benefits is that it enables you to put your writing ‘out there’. There are many opportunities to showcase your work, and I came across one just last week, recommended by a new friend I met at a local writers’ support group.

This is CafeLit. Anyone can submit a story (up to 3000 words, so there’s plenty of room for manoeuvre), and if accepted it will appear on the website. This may not be instant fame, and the audience might be limited, but it’s definitely ‘out there’. There is the possibility, too, of your story appearing in a published collection at the end of the year. My new friend – a beginner writer – was thrilled when her story appeared on the site. If you have stories to tell, do check it out.

This is just one example, and there are many other possibilities, including putting your writing on your own blog. It’s a gentler way to send your stories out into the world.

So I’m going to say something daring now, verging on the blasphemous: if you love your writing, think carefully before you turn it into a product. Ask yourself if that’s what you really want. Your work can be read without the stress and strain of trying to persuade people to buy it. I put it to you that this is indeed another way. And for many of us it may just be the better way.

B is for Bluebell

The second in my A to Z of plant-inspired quirky tales:

Medicinal Purposes Only

Inspired by the fragrant English Bluebell (Hyacinthoides non-scripta)

Miss Burrage wasn’t much of a looker. She knew it, of course. With the casual cruelty of youth, the boys had called her porridge-chops. Porridge Burrage. She had learned to live with it. And what did it matter, after all? She was an artist. Art was her life, and suffused her soul. No matter, really, that she had to support herself by teaching it to clumsy, soulless children, and classes of silly, chattering women.

But Miss Burrage had a bit of a secret. Well, semi-secret. Bluebell Wine was her support in all adversity. She decanted into a pretty bottle decorated with lovingly hand-painted labels. These gave it an air of wholesomeness, she thought. Perfect calligraphy and the matchless image of the bluebell, painted from life, no two ever the same. The wine itself was colourless, so she occasionally threw in a bit of indigo or Prussian blue from her palette, so it lived up to its name.

“I don’t really drink,” she told the occasional visitor. “It’s for medicinal purposes only.”

And, indeed, she partook of the Bluebell Wine from a tiny, elegant glass. It was a bare thimbleful at a time, at least when others were present. She had an equally elegant, but much larger glass for use in private. A measure or two never did any harm to her artistic imagination, and she used it freely. It was always available, and it never called her names. Whatever happens, she told herself, I’ll always have my Bluebell Wine, my faithful friend and unfailing support.

Some people, had they known just how much Bluebell Wine Miss Burrage got through, might have said she had something of a problem. Miss Burrage would have disagreed. The only problem she had was finding discreet ways to get rid of all the empty gin bottles.

A is for Anemone

The first in my A to Z of plant-inspired quirky tales:

Wooden Enemies

This story was inspired by the delicate Wood Anemone (Anemone nemorosa)

Even his spontaneity was planned. Or so he liked to think. It was perfectly possible to plan an apparently spontaneous choice. It seemed to keep other people happy.  But he, himself, knew it was nothing so disorganised. It was all planned to the last detail. I will have order in my life, he told himself. I will be in control. But when a sketchpad fell out of the sky and landed on his head, he had to admit he hadn’t been expecting that.

He stood a moment, stunned. Not by the blow, you understand, which was slight, but by the disturbing outburst of the unexpected. A huge shadow fell across him, both figuratively and literally. He looked up. A young lady was looking down at him from the basket of a hot-air balloon immediately above him. He hadn’t been expecting that, either.

“I’m so terribly sorry,” she called. “Could you please take that to number eleven Spring Street? I should be so grateful for…”

But before she could say more the March winds blew her, and the balloon, on their way.

This was so entirely preposterous an encounter that he was left staring into the sky, with his mouth open. He must have imagined the whole thing. But no – here was the sketchpad. He leafed through it, finding dainty watercolours of the landscape, clearly made from the vantage point of the balloon. And pages and pages of sketches of wood anemones. All of them seemed to have been worked in moments, capturing the ephemeral nature of the fragile flowers. Nothing planned, nothing laboured over. There was no denying it, they were spontaneous works of art.

Within seconds he had made an entirely out-of-the-blue decision to head for Spring Street. Now. Immediately. The visit to the bank manager could wait.  Glancing at the final sketch he smiled. A quirky mode of spelling she had, too. In a careless hand she had written underneath ‘Wooden Enemies’.

*

This story was first published in my short fiction collection Mr Muggington’s Discovery and Other Stories. Paperback copies are available from Amazon at £4.95, but the e-book is free. If you’d like one, leave me a message on the Contact page of this site and I’ll email a copy to you.